


Shock Collars

by VictoriaBlaze



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blood and Injury, Demonic Possession, Dental Trauma, Graphic Description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaBlaze/pseuds/VictoriaBlaze
Summary: Before going on holiday in Wales, Crowley asked his human associate Victoria to keep an eye on things around his apartment, chiefly his demonic duckling, Watson. The foul fowl was safely contained in the parlour by holy wards on the door frames. Surely one little duckling couldn't cause too much trouble with such precautions in place?This is Victoria's second story, which occurred some weeks after briefly meeting Crowley and Aziraphale.Content Warning: Graphic description of injury, blood and injury, dental trauma, demonic possession
Kudos: 1





	Shock Collars

Standing before a monolithic slab of steel posing as a door, Victoria mused at how life had ultimately lead her to house-sit for a purportedly supernatural entity. Where did it take that left turn? She thought she’d made all of the smart decisions: studied hard at school, went to university, dated respectable people, exercised kindness towards strangers. Yet in spite of a bland, balanced existence and a (mostly) clear conscience, the young woman still felt as though maybe she had a few things to answer for and this was her unique penance. Reaching out her hand, she pressed her mobile to a sensor on the doorframe to unbolt the lock, feeling absurd and a touch renegade. The invisible mechanisms within slotted into place, resonating with a sound she felt in the pit of her stomach. Shifting her pack anxiously on her shoulder, she side-stepped onto the landing and gently pushed the slab closed behind her with her boot.

Though this was now the fourth day she'd spent looking after Crowley’s apartment, the place still took her by surprise. It was stylish, modern, and imposing, like something out of a catalogue featuring industrial couture and models with dramatic haircuts. Grey and monolithic in design, it provided every convenience that one of discerning taste might desire without pesky things like soft edges. A handful of dramatic art pieces adorned the flat, the fierce nature of their displays making one question if they were for decoration, or more a pointed warning. Winding her way through the astonishingly immense space, Victoria finally came to the spot she felt actually had some atmosphere: the plant room. Crowley’s arboretum was an astoundingly handsome respite from the astringent nature of the flat, with elegant displays of verdant, thriving specimens stretching longingly for the frosted windows against the far wall.

Allowing herself a meager smile, she dropped her bag down beside a high, charcoal-coloured trough planter and took a seat. She rummaged for a moment before pulling out a small battery-powered camping lantern and a book. Originally, she and Tessa got the lantern as a back-up in case they ever forgot to pay the electric. It had only been used twice.

Flicking the light on, she set it up on the rim of the planter and then withdrew her book: the collected works of John Keats. Romantic poetry was something of a guilty pleasure for Victoria and certainly one that she was happy to share with this heavenly nursery. Very briefly and foolishly, she considered bringing some of her own poetry to read, though she wagered she couldn’t risk the harm it would probably do them. Leaning back against the cold stone planter, she propped her book up on her knees and cleared her throat:

“What is more gentle than a wind in summer?  
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer  
That stays one moment in an open flower,  
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?  
What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing  
In a green island, far from all men’s knowing?  
More healthful than-”

A faint sound pierced through her recitation, freezing her in place. It echoed in the hollow chambers of her soul, flushing her veins with ice. Victoria tucked the bookmark in and pressed the paperback reflexively to her chest. With held breath, she waited. After a long moment of thick intensity, she exhaled in relief. It seemed to be nothing, and so she opened to the page and parted her lips, only to have the spaces filled again with the soft, hellish utterance:

“....quack…”

Snapping the book shut, she dropped it carelessly onto her bag and swiped the diminutive lantern. She took long, excited strides to the parlour like a child trying to make haste after being scolded for running. After travelling what felt like a small labyrinth of corridors, the woman reached the warded sitting room, her eyes wide and heart thundering. Would today be the day?

Per the established themes of the flat's oppressive decor, the parlour was a regal, polished crypt. At the centre of the handsomely furnished room lurked an ostentatious, hand-wrought silver chaise longue and matching wingback chair, waiting like the inviting light of an angler fish. Between them, a diminutive table held a lavishly-carved silver box and two crystal glasses. An immense, looming fireplace licked cancerously up the far wall, framing the scene neatly with its dark edges. A slight shiver suffused Victoria as she stepped through the doorway and her hand involuntarily reached for the protective seal beneath her shirt. She stood cautiously back and scanned every edge of the space; a solitary gazelle attempting to draw sight of the leopard it knew was hidden in the grass. Deciding she was safe for the moment, she stepped gingerly towards the impressive hearth. The lantern light danced erratically across its surface with the slight trembling of her hand, enhancing its spectral nature. At the foot of the obelisk, she stood and held her breath.

“Quack!”

Shrieking, the woman dropped the plastic light with a clatter, whipping around with barely enough rapidity to spot the tiny malefic duckling. While it had seemingly materialized behind her, it now took off like a shot for a small opening in the stonework at the back of the fire pit. Wriggling through the ash, it burrowed into the safety of its hideaway and glared at her, a pair of galled rubies shrouded in black velvet. Victoria clutched at the seal and panted, reaching down to pick up the little light with a groan.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she informed the duckling. It remained unblinking. Frowning, the house-sitter gestured towards a plate of peas and a bowl of water. The food had at least been played with if not eaten, and what was water now appeared to be a mass that resembled an acrid, gelatinous tumour. Groaning, she reluctantly picked up the bowl and pulled a face. It writhed unpleasantly with the movement.

“I just gave you fresh water yesterday! What was so wrong with it that you had to go and do this?” she grumbled at the eyes in the hearth. A muffled peeping returned as if in answer. Tucking the bowl under her arm with a sigh, she shook her head. “At least you ate the lettuce.”

It took Victoria a few wrong turns before she found the kitchen. After sluicing the plasma down the disposal, she refilled the bowl and broke off a few crisp leaves of lettuce from a head in the fridge to take back with her. Fresh supplies in-hand, the woman started for the parlour but, having remembered an important and very neglected instruction, she instead took a detour back to the plant room. Setting the bowl down, she stood in the middle of the room with the lettuce raised up awkwardly above her head. Wincing, she ripped the leaves in half, sending a ripple of fear across the flora that vibrated down their lush stalks.

“Sorry,” she mumbled under her breath, dropping the duck food into the water. She hesitated as she went to retrieve the bowl, having noticed her discarded book and suddenly became struck with an idea. Tucking it under her arm, she grabbed the dish and wandered back to the parlour. She deposited the provisions beside the half-finished plate of peas, arranging the lettuce in what she hoped was an attractive presentation, though she couldn’t fathom what would be attractive to a duck. With a sigh, she crawled towards the fireplace and stuck her head in, giving the hidey-hole in the back a little smile.

“I’m going to sit just over there and read. You can join if you like,” she offered gently. The aggressive beady-red eyes continued to stare unblinking from the shadows. Victoria withdrew to the nearby wall, setting the little lamp next to her and cracking open her book. 

“More healthful than the leafiness of dales?  
More secret than a nest of nightingales?”

\---

At the conclusion of her fourth or fifth poem, Victoria thought she ought to be heading home. Yawning, she pulled her mobile out and checked the time. She had been there for an hour now; it was certainly time to vacate that mortuary and seek refuge in the sunshine while there was still some shining down on London. Placing her hands on the frigid stone floors, she made to push herself up but froze when her fingertips brushed something soft. Rooted by apprehension, she shot a glance to her side and found that Watson had come out during her readings and curled up against her leg. Sensing her stare, the duckling turned its fluffy little head and pinned her with a deadly look, as if furious that she’d stopped reading. She couldn’t help but release a small giggle.

“You’re so fierce,” she smiled, opening her palm up to the tiny demon. It continued to pierce her with its gaze, and then it muttered a few small quacks as it shimmied across the floor and up into her hand. Victoria gasped, drawing him to her chest.

“O-okay! One more poem then, eh?” she grinned, looking down at her compatriot with newfound affection. Her other hand made to set the phone down and pick up the book instead, but she hesitated. She could risk a quick photo, hopefully?

Wedging the mobile between her knees, she set the shutter to voice activate and picked the duck up with both hands. “Peas!” she smiled, and the flash snapped. A loud quack of fury and disapproval burst from the duckling in her hands and the force behind it nearly startled Victoria to dropping him. Drawing the little creature up to her bosom, she hushed it comfortingly as she retrieved her phone. It was a decent enough photo on its own, and she could always layer filters until it looked good enough to post on her socials. For now, she’d share it with a chat group of Crowley and related friends. Wouldn’t they be impressed that she’d tamed the savage beast?

Tapping the mic, she dictated to her device: {I see a certain foul fowl enjoys my lamp and recitations of Keats. Hello little one!}

Setting the mobile aside, she reached for the book but something suddenly seemed... off. The duckling felt heavier somehow. She lifted Watson up to eye-level with more effort than it took before. Their eyes locked and suddenly her fingers began to tingle.

“That can’t be good,” she murmured. “Alright, time for you to go back now.” Turning to her side, she brought her hand to the floor and tried to spread her fingers but they were stuck. She couldn’t move her hand at all now. The tingling pinched, creeping up her forearm and leaving a numb weight from her fingertips to her wrist. Swallowing her rising panic, she got to her feet and began to pace.

“This definitely isn’t good. This is bad. This is very bad. You’re a _bad ducky!_ ” she hissed, glaring at Watson who merely quacked happily and closed his little eyes as if in glee. Scowling, Victoria snatched her phone up and hit the mic: {My hand is numb. I’m going to try taking him to the bathroom and wrapping him in a towel or something.}

Lifting the pleasantly peeping waterfowl back up to eye-level, she started for the hall. "Listen you, this isn't funny. I need this body, and I would appreciate it if you would -oof!"

The breath rushed out of Victoria when she reached the door frame, or more accurately, the wards placed within it to ensure the duck stayed in its proverbial playpen. It was a terrifying sensation as all the air in her body was given a command to immediately evacuate. She tried to draw breath but her lungs steadfastly refused to inflate. A horrible feeling like sinking into thick, warm pudding enveloped her. In her static, outstretched hand, Watson bellowed and quacked like a thing on fire, eventually wrestling himself from her grip and waddling frantically to his hiding spot. When the ducking disengaged, the air immediately flooded back into Victoria and she gasped through the agony of hot, dizzying needles in her head and chest. Her vision failed and she dropped to the floor with a sickening crack, sending bits of tooth skittering as her face hit the stone.

Some moments later she came to, her chest and head alight with pain and her mouth full of hot copper. Groaning, she turned her face to the side and spat cherry-red blood and tooth fragments onto the sullied floor. Blinking slowly, she realized what had happened and gently began to cry. The stains would never come out of the raw stonework, she was certain of it. Crowley would be furious.

Remembering her mobile, she pulled it out with her good hand and checked the chat. A small flurry of messages awaited her, mostly reminding her of the wards and her stupendous lapse in intelligence. Too little too late, unfortunately. Tapping the voice-to-text button, she wiped her mouth on her arm and mumbled: {Forgot the room was warded. That hurt.}

A ding popped from the device almost immediately: {Are you okay?}

{No. Maybe. Dropped the duck. My tooth...} she moaned, spotting a large chunk of cream enamel in the centre of the blood pool. Around it, swirls of milky-white spiraled like the paths of comets in a crimson sky. What on earth were those?

Gingerly, Victoria ran an inspection of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. She screwed up her face in aching upset as the tears came on stronger now. Please no, don't let it be as bad as it seemed. She couldn't afford the time off work, or the cost of replacing the floors, or -

Ding. Ding. Ding.

{What happened?} {What's going on?}

She took a deep, steadying breath and brought up her mobile. {I'm lying down, I'm okay} She lied. {The floor is cold. It's nice. My fillings… melted. Smells like hot cough medicine… and hair.}

Setting her phone down, the woman took stock of what she could move. Nervously, she wiggled her toes and with small relief, they obliged. Next, she moved up her feet, legs, hips, torso; it was all in working order. Confident, she moved her right arm, which she already knew was just fine, then her left -

Her left arm was statuesque, completely locked in place at a bend, still holding the air where the duck had been. The tingling sensation was at her shoulder now. Everything below felt less than numb, less than hollow. It felt gone.

"M-my arm…" Victoria choked, trying to move the dead weight. She needed help. Real help.

Struggling to her knees, she attempted to stand but the floor pitched violently underneath her, sending her sprawling fully into the warded doorway. Eyes swimming and stomach churning, she tightly constricted in an attempt to suppress an immediate need to vomit.

All of a sudden, the oppressive sinking-pudding feeling was back, though this time concentrated on her paralyzed arm. The unpleasant tingle instantly went white-hot, as if every gossamer length of nervous structure was replaced by boiling sulphur. Her mouth made the action of screaming without result. The savage web of pain blossomed from the ball of her shoulder and spread to her throat, ribs, and around her heart.

The world dissolved into liquid gold.

\---

Blackness. Then, a star - no, a constellation. From the centre flowered a dazzling nebula, which grew and then burst into a resplendent sunrise. Victoria felt immeasurably peaceful in the golden-pink glow, as though she were no longer burdened by the limitations of reality. Slowly, the gentle light folded into itself until it formed a beautiful, commanding shape. She gaped at the wondrous being before her, for she knew from the first small star born in the darkness that the magnificent wave of light and colour was indeed an entity. She reached for it and it suddenly swelled with a glorious shimmering white light. The power of it was so brilliant that she reeled like driftwood tossed back by the awesome force of the sea. Unable to turn away, she reached again as a pair of scintillating pearlescent wings unfurled in a burst of pure, enrapturing divinity. Tears poured from the woman as the exquisite love of this being filled and enveloped her, drawing her into itself with near-suffocating compassion. Victoria sighed.

A faint voice cut tenderly through the light, accompanied by a comforting feeling not unlike being lowered onto a soft bed of clover. "Not to worry," the voice soothed. "You're quite all right." A sudden intense, electric feeling surged through Victoria as her body knit itself back together. New blood flooded her veins, broken teeth filled in with fresh enamel, nerve endings reignited, and trauma repaired. Pins pricked the backs of her doe-brown eyes, forcing them open with a blurry flutter.

From her vantage, Victoria deduced that she was lying prone on the floor of Crowley's office, though she had no memory or idea of how she got there. She bizarrely felt right as rain, and in her outstretched hand she held the receiver of the telephone that sat on the edge of his terrifically gaudy desk. Confused, the woman groaned and tentatively rolled over onto her back. She blinked. There was a man kneeling beside her.

Stately and well-groomed, the gentleman was passing his hands above her body with focus and expertise, like a puppeteer working a delicate dance with a thousand unseen strings. His features were soft and handsome, and his hair a stunning coif of brilliantly blonde, short-shorn curls. Though she had only seen a brief glimpse of this near-stranger once before at his bookshop, her soul recognized him immediately. He finished his task and sat back on his heels, regarding her with uncertain, honey-blue eyes.

"Good as new," Aziraphale reassured her.


End file.
